


The Vineyard of the Damned

by Tridraconeus



Series: The Vineyard of the Damned [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Arson, Chickens, Dogs, Eye Enucleation, Fix-It, Forgiveness, Found Family, Gen, Goats, Introspection, Murder, Nobody dies/everybody lives, Past Abuse, Reunions, Vineyard, black magic, house fire, mentions of torture, murderhobos finding peace, the vineyard we’ve all agreed daud gets, thrown to the dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-01-07 23:38:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12242862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tridraconeus/pseuds/Tridraconeus
Summary: Billie gathers a small cadre of former Whalers. Together, they rescue Daud, and then plunge headlong into a new adventure: life after trauma.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Updates on Sundays and/or whenever I want until all chapters are posted. Written and edited entirely by myself, so any mistakes, characterization, plot threads picked up and dropped the next second I see something shiny, etc, are entirely my fault. This is a fix-it fic for Death of the Outsider with 100% more Whalers and 100% less Outsider, although Daud is implied to have spoken to him. So maybe 88% less Outsider.  
> Some notes: I hold my [Penance](http://archiveofourown.org/series/788454) series as canon to this, but since it focuses on Thomas you don’t have to have read it to understand what’s going on here. THAT BEING SAID this chapter and the next are Billie-and-Thomas heavy, seeing as it's set-up, and Daud doesn't enter the equation until chapter four.

**_10 th Day, Month of Rain_ **

Dunwall, in the aftermath of Delilah’s coup, repaired itself slowly. Billie took the opportunity to explore what had become of the city; for that, and for another reason. As secure as she was in her abilities, a heist like the one she was planning required backup.

Less a heist, more a kidnapping. Her target might not be unnecessarily unwilling, however.

_Daud_.

The closest thing she had to family, she’d said, and now a dot on a map for her to claw her way toward. Before that, though, the backup—

None, so far. She’d come to this run-down behemoth of a brownstone in the hopes she’d find Thomas. If there was anyone she wanted fighting by her side on this, it was him, and rumors in the black market and on the streets, though not necessarily true, were rumors and might be useful. But no. She was here, and alone, and this whole place made a pit open up black and yawning within her. How could anybody live here? If not Dunwall in general, then _here_?

She had, once upon a time. She dug around the apartment for a few more minutes and finally gave up, prepared to turn and leave.

“Hello, Billie.” Billie nearly started, but schooled herself in time to turn around. Thomas stood at the door, blocking it neatly. She nearly didn’t recognize him; he had a scarf wrapped up over his nose to hide his face, and his eyes were framed by crow’s feet, his brow split with a scar. It was his voice that betrayed him. Even after all the years, he still spoke in a steady, neutral cadence; prim, if anything, though far more toneless than she remembered. The thought of him prancing around in oilskin and a mask was almost laughable, until she remembered exactly how lethal and precise he could be. It lent him to espionage; but to those who knew him, he could never hide. The way he wearily shut the door and unwound his scarf suggested that he knew this was inevitable. She found her eyes repeatedly slipping off of him like water from a canopy; she had to keep bringing them back, and then it stayed a chore to look. Thomas was plain, yes, he escaped notice. He didn’t  _repel_  it. Chalking it up to her own fatigue, Billie let it fester in the back of her head. There were more pressing matters to think about. It wouldn’t do to pry and scare him off.

“I thought I was well-hidden here.” He shrugged off his coat and hung it on a wooden chair that was missing a leg and looked more suited to firewood than sitting. Billie  _hmph_ ed and let him talk. “…I’m not supposed to be in Dunwall. And neither are you, if I recall.”

A spark, angry and indignant, burst in her head.  _That's enough_ , she decided, and settled a hand on her hip and leaned up against the wall, forcedly casual in a way that made Thomas instantly uncomfortable. Good. Served him right. Now, her eyes settled on him heavily, his concrete-colored shirt barely standing out against the drab beige interior of the apartment. There were flecks of red on the sleeves and belly. She looked, instead, at his face. If not for his sharp eyes, he might have faded into the background. It had been one of his strengths; and remained so, apparently.

“This isn’t any place for a person to be living.” She tried to ignore a well-fed rat scuffling around a hole in the wall. Thomas seemed to be doing it well enough. “And don’t worry. I don’t plan on staying here long.” 

Thomas rolled up his sleeves and rubbed his arms, studiously avoiding looking Billie in the eyes. He looked lost. Worse than that, embarrassed that she’d found him—and like this. Billie crossed her arms and straightened, aimed a kick at the rat which skittered a few feet away but otherwise remained undeterred, and spoke up.

“Come back to my ship. I’m leaving for Serkonos tomorrow morning.” 

Perhaps rather off-the-cuff, but at one point she and Thomas were friends and leaving him like this just sat wrong. Besides, she was doing this because he was likely agree to assist her in her search for Daud-- and him owing her certainly couldn't hurt to tip his hand. Thomas shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked to the door, to the window, and finally to Billie. 

“You have a ship?”

Billie nodded. “Old, and I suspect this journey will be her last, but yes.” 

That question answered to his satisfaction, Thomas nodded. Normally, he'd ask more, enough to make a map of the ship in his mind. He was plain, not  _dull,_ and thorough more than either of those. “Alright. But I must ask; what do you want out of me?” 

Billie waved her hand dismissively. “I’m not allowed to help out an old friend?”

“Not without cause,” Thomas replied, far too mildly for all the heat it should hold. He was staring her down again. Billie chuffed in amusement. He  _was_  right. Didn’t mean she wasn’t mildly offended. “Lead the way,” he said finally, and Billie decided to take what small victories she could.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billie and Thomas have some catching up to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First two chapters together because I realized that 800 words is a sad number of words.

Thomas didn’t bring anything with him—said that all he had and all he needed, he was wearing. Billie nearly didn’t believe him and said as much. He took the time to show her the hidden sheathes for daggers, a switchblade tucked up his sleeve, a canister of chokedust in a pouch most would assume carried keys or trinkets, and cracked, ugly spokes of bone sewn into the inside of his jacket. As they walked to the cove she'd stashed the  _Wale_ , eyes settled only on her, though never for long. She kept looking behind her to check that Thomas was still following, only for him to tap her shoulder and reveal himself to have been walking at her side. They couldn't get back to the  _Wale_ fast enough, in her opinion.

She let Thomas explore and retired to her cabin. When she emerged a few hours later, the sun tinged the sky flares of orange and pink at the horizon. Billie found Thomas leaning over the side of the boat and went to stand next to him-- his eyes stayed fixed on the waves with something near regret. For helping her? For coming back? She didn't know.

She didn't ask.

“How long have you been over here?” She asked. Thomas shrugged.

“Since a little before sundown.”

She hummed. “Come sit down.” 

It wasn't necessarily a request, so she was glad when he obeyed and followed her over to chairs placed on deck, a table between them. They sat in companionable silence without much attention paid to the passage of time, in turns examining a map of the Isles laid out on the table or the slow descent of the sun below the waves. Before Billie knew it, glowing twilight dappled the water silver-white like a cut stone and reading the map took more effort than it was worth.

“Rinaldo's in Coldridge,” Thomas said, almost idly. Thomas never said anything idly. Billie hummed. 

“Coldridge, huh? How do you know about that? Were you working together?” 

A pained, hunted look flashed over Thomas' face. He shook his head and it was gone as quickly as it came. “I don't want to talk about  _that_.”

“Okay.” She let it hover, if not drop. Silence reigned for a few more minutes, and in lieu of anything better to do she pulled the blade from its sheath and started to clean it. Thomas perked up and gestured toward it, snatching up any avenue of conversation. The sway of the  _Wale_  lulled them both into camaraderie, evidently. 

“You kept the blade?” 

Billie twitched one shoulder up. Her thumb slid along the flat, down to the tip. “It was a tool. Didn't we all?”

Thomas looked back out to the sea and let the conversation die again.  _Well_. This was going nowhere, like kindling a dying flame. Billie finished cleaning the knife and cleared her throat. All it needed was a little more tinder, and she knew as well as anybody how to set fires. He knew, surely, that this pause was only to allow him to collect his thoughts. Billie planned to ask again; and so she did.

“So, Rinaldo's in Coldridge?”

Billie noted with satisfaction that even after all these years, Thomas knew when he was being asked to brief. He glanced at her and jumped right into it with well-practiced ease. “He was a security personnel at the Golden Cat alongside Galia Fleet--”

“Galia--?”

“A Novice. The blonde.”

“Ah.”  _Galia_. The name didn't ring entirely hollow; Galia didn't care much for her. If she was in Coldridge, Billie not might feel the same pity she had for Rinaldo.

“They were approached by a man named Zhukov, a former Hero of Tyvia, who managed to... I don't know, Billie.” His voice crested and broke. Billie noticed, almost with a start, how miserable and tired it sounded. “He harnessed the power of the Void and shared it with Galia. She reformed the Whalers, but she was the only one who could use the Void. Rinaldo... I think he went along out of loyalty. The Crown broke it up. He was captured, I assume confessed, and was sent to Coldridge.”

“And not executed?” Billie had the feeling Thomas knew more than he was telling her, but let it drop. Having him on the boat was already a victory; his sharing of this information was a triumph. 

“No. He wasn't practicing witchcraft, and I assume he was granted some sort of leniency.” 

Billie nodded in understanding. It made sense; Rinaldo never really used the powers except when he absolutely had to. Billie didn't know his background before Daud, only that he'd been a mercenary; what became of his crew, she didn't want to know. He’d never told. She’d never asked. It suited them both just fine. Even now, her first thought wasn't his skillful hands; it was his smile, and good humor. He was a murderer. They all were. It was the other things that told them apart. 

“Why do you want to know?” Thomas finally asked, curious in that diligent and probing way of his. Billie found it pleasantly blunt at the best of times and insufferable at the worst. This fell somewhere in the in-between, in that she didn’t appreciate the prying but knew that it was a means to an end.

“I'm planning a field trip.” It wouldn't satisfy him. She knew this. Sure enough, Thomas shook his head. 

“Billie...”

“Help me break him out and I'll tell you.” That usually worked when they were working under Daud, when he accepted bargains and haggles for information; it was like a game to him, she’d figured out. Now, he shook his head again.

“Tell me and I'll help you break him out.” He wasn't going to budge. Billie relented, and steeled herself for incredulity.

“I'm going to find Daud. I have a lead, but if it has any hope of being successful I need help.”

“Billie--” 

She swiftly cut him off before he could continue. “I'm sure it's him.”

“--and if it's not?”

“It  _has_  to be,” she finished, sharp and savage. A lesser person would flinch. Thomas stared her down. She was reminded, again, that she hadn't just betrayed Daud; she'd betrayed all of them. Thomas replaced her. Thomas' loyalty never faced question, and he'd never given reason for it to. Relief flooded through her when he finally nodded, though he was obviously uncomfortable with the idea.

“I believe you.” 

“So you'll help?” 

Thomas fiddled with his fingers in his lap, tapping a pattern as he would on his blade. “I'll help.” 

Billie nodded sharply. “Good.” 

Thomas paused and tilted his head, meditated on his words before speaking; the years hadn't taken that quirk from him. “I have one question, though.”

Billie hummed. “Hm? What is it?”

His nose wrinkled. “Why  _Rinaldo_?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billie and Thomas break out Rinaldo, but tensions start to rise.

**_11 th Day, Month of Rain_ **

They spent nearly an entire day preparing. Billie used the majority of the time making sure her arsenal was well in order, and digging some of Sokolov’s spare clothes from the bottom of a chest where they laid neatly folded and nearly forgotten. The sun was crawling from its zenith when she returned to where Thomas was up on deck.

He leaned over the table, map of the Isles now replaced with a rudimentary hand-drawn map of the Coldridge floorplan. Billie stood next to him, patient as he explained his plan. He’d been the one to bring it up; he’d volunteered, too, to make the plan. Billie didn’t quite know what terms he’d left Rinaldo on, but doubted they were good. She didn’t, however, think Thomas would be stupid enough to endanger the both of them with a crazy stunt inside the prison. Thomas, when you knew him, was easy to figure out. As long as she never  _told_  him that, he’d stay that way. 

“From his cell to the execution yard-- I thought about what you said, about them executing him, and figured that going out over the wall was smarter than going out back through the main gate. There's a wreckage of a staircase hewn into the cliffside and that gets us down to the sewers. From there, it's a quick journey to an outflow and to the Wale.” 

“You've really planned this.” Billie shook her head, mildly amazed; it made sense, though. Thomas hummed, soft, pleased. Pride colored the stiffness of his back and each careful movement on the map. 

“Daud rescued Stride. I merely patterned this after the previous one.” 

“That’s fair.” Billie leaned over his plans; a map, with colored scraps of paper scattered on it in lines. “You said back through the main gate. How are we going to get in?”

Thomas traced a line across the bridge. “Daud bribed his way into an Overseer’s uniform. I know where the Watch gets their laundry done. All we have to do is neutralize a shift change and replace them.” 

“And you think we can get in--?”

“See?” Thomas effortlessly piggybacked on her trail of thought and his finger pinned a strip of paper to the map. Billie hummed her understanding. “They won’t stop us once we’re in. Prisoners are getting moved around all the time, especially since all the political prisoners are getting sent back. I don't know whether he qualifies as a political, so I can just put a bag over his head.”

“How long should it take?”

Thomas stopped and chewed his lip. “It shouldn’t take more than a half hour. We need to be out before the next shift change, or a guard will pull the alarm while we’re still inside.”

Billie sat in the chair next to the table, eyeing the map critically. “We can do this. Tomorrow morning, you say?”

Thomas nodded. “Yes. Do you have a weapons locker?”

“Don’t you have enough?”

Thomas hid a smile behind his hand. “Not a blade.”

“In a chest by my bed.” She tossed him the key, knowing well enough she didn’t have to tell him not to touch anything else. 

While he was gone she opened his coat, plucked out the burning chips of bone, and tossed them into the ocean. They left angry red marks on her palm—briefly, Billie reflected that they likely would have been helpful for the break-in to Coldridge. It was quickly replaced with the thought of what the scraps of the bone charm took as payment for the stealth it granted. Thomas was smart—he didn’t pay the price of corrupted charms as often as the other Whalers had. He’d likely taken this one in a moment of need, and held it too long, and seen it grow on him like a fungus. 

Whatever he thought of it, this was for his own good. She’d already felt herself go fuzzy around the edges from what small contact she’d given it.

Thomas emerged from the cabin a few minutes later. He wandered around deck for a couple more, uneasily looking to the cresting waves. 

“She won’t sink yet, Thomas. Relax.”

He waved, near dismissive if not for the tenseness. When the sun finally dropped far enough, they ventured to the laundry and riffled through the uniforms until they found pairs that fit them believably, and then returned to the ship. Thomas set to pacing, a mixture of anxious and impatient. She let him meander, and sure enough when the moon settled high in the sky, hung as if in a silvograph, he settled on one of the chairs on deck and fell asleep with his head tilted towards its glow. His coat draped over his front as a blanket. Billie went down to her cabin, too tired to busy herself with reflection in her journal tonight. All she managed was the date and, in a crawl across the page,  _Met up with Thomas. Rinaldo is the next target._

Sleep, while quick to come, did not prove restful.

In the morning she scarfed down a can of jellied eels and a slice of dark bread, bringing Thomas some of the same. He was leaned over the table and patting down the seams of his coat when she came up on deck, upset showing in quick, sharp movements-- all edges, fingers combing through pockets. When she set the food down on the table his eyes snapped up to her, accusatory.

“Where’s my bone charm?”

Billie gestured to the waves. “I threw it overboard.”

“You did  _what_?” Anger crept into his voice, and Thomas rounded on her with his hands clenched into fists. “Billie!”

“It was hurting you, Thomas, and if you couldn’t see that you’re not as clever as I thought you were.”

She was right; his voice was no longer unaccented and dull, instead tinged with the rounded vowels of Dunwall. Thomas glowered, but he couldn't argue-- and they both knew of the corrupting magic of bone charms. If he argued, he might seem compromised. It was a tricky situation-- but it had to be done, even if he resented her for it.

Fine. She was used to being resented. Just as long as he followed the plan, his  _own_  plan, and he was too damn loyal not to. 

“It would have been useful getting us in,” he groused bitterly. Billie winced. 

“I’ll replace it,” she said, softly. Thomas sighed and scrubbed hands through his hair, more resigned than angry now. Billie could tell there was still frustration bubbling and festering under the surface. 

“If the magic was corrupting me, I’ll just have to make do without. We need to focus on getting Rinaldo.” Typical Thomas.  _Typical._  Focusing on work instead of the  _real_  problem. That’s why Daud liked him, Billie guessed. Diligent. Adaptable. Observant, except to the things that mattered the most. Again, Billie wondered if she was being uncharitable. 

Probably.

Thomas turned back to the table and she paced across the deck to fetch her weapons. 

“We leave in twenty,” he called after her.

“Alright,” she responded. 

From the Wale to Coldridge proved more difficult than either of them expected. She eventually picked two lagging guardsmen from the pack and they struck, choking them and stashing them in a shadowed corner. As quickly as they could, she and Thomas ran one last check on their stolen uniforms and then the two newly quiet guardsman joined back up with the group. From there they crossed the bridge with little fuss. Billie easily took charge once they split off from the group inside the prison; upon crossing the threshold, Thomas went oddly quiet and leery and while Billie generally trusted him she didn’t want to deal with a  _situation_ , as Daud used to call it. 

That’s why the Bond was so useful, sometimes. Not having a past erased so many fears. Billie wished that she’d been wiped clean like some of them, sometimes, but it lessened by the day. Some of the Whalers used to keep meticulous journals; still others embraced nothing but a name and a rank. They were all people with their wants and their quirks, under the mask. 

A guard saluted her. She saluted back, and nicked a master key from his belt as he passed. After that it was simple enough to slip into a guardroom and flip through the cellbooks, picking out various names she knew and various names she didn’t until she finally found Rinaldo’s. Thomas stood by the door and watched for intruders. Ironic enough, seeing as they themselves were intruders, but Billie didn’t let the semantics of it bother her. 

She read out the cell number and then gestured to Thomas. “Let’s go. How long do we have?”

Thomas peered at the clock. “We have ten minutes. Let’s make this fast.”

“Agreed,” she muttered, and took to the stairs, Thomas close at her heels. The blocky letters and numbers marking the cells were ugly, but undeniably useful; she found her pace speeding as Rinaldo’s drew closer. When they finally reached the cell she fumbled in her pocket for the key, peering around the corner to make sure their cover wasn’t blown. Various gang members slept in the adjacent cells, but she heard humming of a song—Serkonan, popular when she was a girl—from the cell Rinaldo was in. She finally looked inside, Thomas at her shoulder. Rinaldo stood by the thin sliver of window, staring to the waves below. His hair, she noticed, was a dirty mat nearly halfway down his back. She could see evidence of his neat chinstrap beard being entirely overgrown. He hummed, and tapped the lively beat onto the concrete. How long had he  _been_  here? She nodded to Thomas, who fixed her with a heavy, weary glare before he rapped on the bars.

“Escobar,” and his voice sounded so different, altered in pitch to something lower and closer to what she heard coming from the guard at the first watch station, “stay facing the back wall. Hold your hands in front of you.” 

Rinaldo grumbled but didn't waste any time in pressing his palms to the wall. Thomas unlocked the cell door and pulled a canvas bag from where it had made a bulge in his back pocket, swiftly tugging it over Rinaldo's head. He was still seasoned; he didn't react besides an incredulous huff that might be laughter. Thomas gestured at Billie to enter, and took Rinaldo by the elbow. Billie did the same. Rinaldo, to his credit, kept quiet; he tugged, testing the integrity of their grips, but both she and Thomas held him firmly. 

She'd studied the map. From Rinaldo's cell to the execution yard was a quick journey but it sent them past a guard station, a potentially deadly pitfall if the Watch proved itself more competent than she remembered. Billie surreptitiously craned her head to look inside as they passed; the man was reading a dirt rag, more interested in the sordid tales of Dunwall's elite than the subdued prison break passing him by. Rinaldo tossed his head as they ineptly steered him into a stair-- blinded as he was, he nearly tripped. Thomas roughly tugged the sack back in place and snapped at him,  _settle_ , and then tugged them both out the door and to the tamped-flat earth of the execution yard. 

“Shh,” Billie prompted, and pulled the bag from his head. Rinaldo’s eyes flickered in recognition and he nodded. She pointed at a stack of crates forming a convenient staircase to the wall of the yard, and he smiled at her; understanding, and sly, and everything she’d missed about this whole business. Thomas pushed him forward and went after him, gesturing to Billie impatiently.

“Billie. We need to go  _now_. Shift change.”

Sure enough, the crunching of gravel and easy chatter of guards took up the air and they all bit back an identical curse. Rinaldo catapulted over the wall, Billie following soon after as Thomas hung back to watch for guards. They alternately tumbled and jumped down the crumbling staircase, careful not to trip and go falling down to the drained waterlock. 

Billie suspected that Rinaldo was a touch more crafty than he let on, seeing as he managed to reach the bottom before either of them and went straight to the sewer entrance—then and again, it seemed she was the only one absent from the rescue of Lizzy Stride. They reached the door and formed a loose circle, panting. Rinaldo straightened up first, grinning ear to ear, and Billie barely had time to react before he lunged at her.

“Billie!” Rinaldo wrapped her in an embrace, perhaps a touch too tight; Billie patted him on the back and extricated herself until Rinaldo was only touching her by the shoulder. He shook his head in pleased disbelief, still smiling wide, hair falling to his shoulders in messy coils. No doubt he'd take shears to it once they were safe. His eyes-- a little too large for his face, just as dark as she remembered, the left one forced into a squint due to the scar nearly cleaving his face in two-- flitted to Thomas. He was standing stiffly with his arms behind his back, looking all-too-proper in the pressed Watch uniform. “Thomas.”

“Rinaldo.”

“You sure you had to do the whole bag-over-the-head thing? I woulda played along, you know.” 

“It was necessary.” Billie suspected that it was not, in fact, necessary, and that Thomas just enjoyed making life difficult for Rinaldo. She cleared her throat, and the two men finally stopped sniping at each other and turned to her.

“So, Billie, how much did you pay him to get him to do this?” 

...or not.  _Children_. Billie refused to dignify the jibe with an answer.

“I have a lead on Daud's location. We broke you out; return the favor.”

Rinaldo faltered. “Hey, hey, hey; I didn't ask you to break me out, and I sure as the Void didn't agree to go on a chase after Daud. How many years has it been, Billie?”

Billie leveled her gaze and prayed that Rinaldo didn't know that her incoming threat was entirely empty. “We can take you right back if that's what you want.” 

Rinaldo raised his hands in surrender. “Void, Billie, I never said I wouldn't help.” Eager to change the subject, he thumbed at the maw of the sewer. “This again?” 

“This again,” Thomas confirmed, and swept out in front with the air of someone who wanted very much to run. Billie indulged him and she and Rinaldo hung a few steps behind, letting him shoot down the Krusts and scare away the yapping feral hounds. 

By the time they got back to the  _Wale_  they were all tired, filthy, and varying degrees of frustrated. Thomas eased from the corner of her eye to clean his clothes, and when she turned to speak to him he was already gone. Rinaldo took the one bathroom, and so Billie merely tossed the dirty uniform into a bag for washing and wiped herself down as well as possible before changing. 

 It took nearly two hours for Rinaldo to emerge from the bathroom. Billie internally thanked the stars for remembering to leave spare clothes for him—they were too large for Sokolov, but he found them comfortable on cold nights, and she’d just never gotten rid of them. Seeing Rinaldo in them made her heart ache. Thomas was back up on deck and changed into his own clothes, looking a sight more comfortable than he had in the starched Watch uniform. Billie checked them all over for injuries, more from habit than anything else, and turned her attention properly back to Rinaldo.

He hadn't cut his hair much, merely washed it, and now it was pulled back into a ponytail that exploded into a perfect sphere of curls. He had, however, trimmed his beard back down into something more recognizable. Billie hid a smile. 

Thomas looked him over. “You look like a sheep, Rinaldo. I have half a mind to shear you.” 

Rinaldo scoffed. “Shut up, Thomas, you prissy choffer. I like my hair.”

Billie positioned herself between them. “We leave for Serkonos at dawn, and it's a long journey. I recommend the both of you get some rest so you can make yourselves useful.”

Rinaldo put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, while we’re there, we should go see if you can recruit Rulfio. We didn’t keep in touch for long, but if he hasn’t moved I know where he lives.”

Billie nearly said no. Rulfio was, as she remembered, only in it out of loyalty to Daud. For what, she’d never asked, but more from her own fatal fixation on staying in Daud’s favor than anything else. He taught the Novices; he’d be an asset if he agreed.

“Alright. I’ll hide the  _Wale_  and we can go visit Rulfio first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on one hand, it's mildly ooc for Billie to throw out Thomas' bonecharm. On the other hand, it was twisting him up inside and Billie knew as much. On my third, secret hand, it's building up to some drama and I LOVE drama.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was the closest thing she had to family left, Billie found herself reflecting. Thomas, Rinaldo-- friends, of course, allies. Daud was more. At one point she had seen him as a father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay!! We finally get to rescue Daud!  
> Also, in the words of one of my friends: SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP  
> Non-graphic description of someone being thrown to the wolfhounds in the cage upstairs of the baths, if you don't want to read it just skip past the part where Billie goes upstairs to Jeanette.

**_27 th Day, Month of Rain_ **

For all the trouble and clandestine sneaking it took to get there, Billie expected more. The house they tracked down was less a house and more an apartment, nestled on a second story opposite an apocathery. There were bundles of herbs and flowers, framed pictures on the wall, the Whaler's blade hung from two hooks above the fireplace. Billie wandered and found five rooms. There was a master bedroom; the bed was pushed up to the far corner, and a few fat philosophical books sat underneath the spindly legs of the nightstand. The kitchen was connected to what Billie assumed was a sitting room. It had a couch and two chairs, one comfortingly overstuffed and the other plain and wooden, a low wooden table with a saucer holding half-filled cup of cold tea, and walls that had seen better days but were lovingly cared for all the same. There was a shower in the bathroom and an extra room with an extra bed. Both were plain and spartan. Whatever Rulfio had been doing, legal or not, his apartment gave no clue. 

When she returned to the sitting room Rinaldo already claimed the overstuffed chair and made himself at home in it. Thomas sat at the smaller chair and flipped through one of Rulfio's books. Billie took one side of the couch and looked out the window for lack of anything better to do, hands resting on her legs—twitching, curling like the legs of a dying spider. She was uneasy. She was  _so close_ \-- she could nearly hear Daud's raspy growl at the edges of her consciousness, the ebb and flow of tides lapping away in her mind. He was the closest thing she had to family left, Billie found herself reflecting. Thomas, Rinaldo-- friends, of course, allies. Daud was more. At one point she had seen him as a father.

She wasn't little Billie Lurk anymore, of course. She had left that behind when she let Delilah leave her mark. She'd relinquished whatever share she had in Daud when she left him her letter and the book of ports. She didn't want what it used to be-- but she did want closure. Idly, Billie wondered if she was the only one of them to have sought redemption. For herself, if nothing else.

An hour passed. Rinaldo argued over the book with Thomas, and they came to some sort of agreement that it was a terribly dry load of academic theory. Thomas attempted to explain it, while Rinaldo instead chose to recite magnificently mangled renditions of the Strictures. They both fell into contemplative quiet not soon after, and spent the remaining amount of time before Rulfio returned home cleaning a wristbow and leafing through the academic book, respectively. They all stiffened and turned their heads toward the door as someone wrestled with the lock, and then both Thomas and Rinaldo looked at her. 

Of course. Of  _course_ they would turn to her, but surprise still bloomed in her throat and tightened it. She stood, hand resting on the hilt of her blade, but thought better of it and put it on her hip instead. The door opened and Rulfio pushed his way in, arms heavy with a cloth bag. He froze as soon as he met eyes with Billie. She held her hands up, placating. He looked older—Billie had to remind herself that he was almost as old as Daud, and his formerly dark brown hair now had sprinkles of salt and pepper. He'd grown in a scruffy shadow of a beard that clung to his cheeks and chin.

“Who are you, and why are you in my house?” His eyes narrowed. Thomas and Rinaldo met eyes, hands going to their sides. Billie held her hand up tighter, flatter, and they reluctantly fell still.

“Billie Lurk.” She gestured at Rinaldo, then at Thomas. “Rinaldo Escobar. Thomas. We’re here to make a proposition.” 

At the confirmation of their identities, the anger melted away to irritation. Rulfio made his way to the kitchen and set down the bag, then brushed his hands together and moved to the main room. The whole process took a little over a minute and in that time nobody spoke. 

“I don’t kill anymore,” he warned. 

“You don’t have to.” Billie gestured to the couch. Knowing what was asked of him, Rulfio sighed and sat down.

“And how did you find out where I lived?” 

“I told her,” Rinaldo interrupted. 

“I gave you my address in the hopes you wouldn’t go back to shaking people down in back alleys or on the road, Rinaldo, not to bring the past to my doorstep.” 

“About that, Rulfio--”

Billie crossed her arms. They cut themselves off, and Rulfio gestured to her.

“Explain. Now.”

“I think I have a lead on where Daud is, but I’ll need backup for it.” 

Rulfio stiffened. “You do?”

“Are you familiar with the Albarca Baths? Particularly the boxing club? I have reasonable suspicion to believe they’re holding him there.” 

He nodded slowly, threads of reluctance in his grave tone. “Yes… yes. I never got involved with any of it. It all seems too vulgar and bloodthirsty for me, and there’s rumors of black magic. As you can imagine, I have tried to start a new life here.” 

“Precisely,” Billie continued, noticing how there was a soft edge of urging in her voice and hating it. “Will you join us?”

Rulfio sighed, and looked first at Rinaldo, then at Thomas, and then finally back at Billie. He pursed his lips, shifted. Crossed and uncrossed his arms. Billie kept her gaze fixed steadily on him. In one tired movement, Rulfio shook his head in defeat.

“When do we leave?”

**_28 th Day, Month of Rain_ **

The day began with light streaming in through the windows. For a moment, the room seemed to be cast in amber; silent, still, a perfect and peaceful slice out of time. She smelled the flowers in bundles on the table, the soft scent of crushed basil on butcher paper. Billie wanted, for a moment, to stay in this idyllic version of the world. 

It was ruined by Rinaldo, as was usual. He walked into the room with an armful of weapons. Where he got them? She did not necessarily want to know. How he got them and why he was presenting them to her like a proud hound with a dead bird? She did want to know that.

“Rinaldo?”

“I figured that we’d have to fight our way out.”

“Rinaldo…”

He shrugged, and smiled. She didn’t have any other response, and so let the subject drop, instead gathering the rest of them. Rulfio insisted on breakfast first, which Rinaldo agreed upon, and so they finally left the house around noon and arrived at the Albarca Baths about an hour later. Rulfio may have never felt the urge to lead, but he was a fantastic teacher and always knew the right questions to ask; he helped Billie to explain her plan, and calmed her nerves so that she was cooly determined by the time they reached the front doors. Rinaldo went in first, as did Thomas, to scout the area. Rulfio and Billie talked with the Eyeless loitering outside, and by the time they went down to the common area of the baths Rinaldo strutted proudly over to Billie, eyes glinting. An Eyeless waved after him, smiling shyly, and Billie nearly rolled her eyes. She focused instead on Rinaldo.

“Jeanette Lee has the key to the cell they're keeping Daud in. She’s upstairs,” Rinaldo shared, and then flitted back off to a clump of Eyeless clustered at the corner of the ring. Billie shook her head. Thomas sidled up next to her.

“Daud’s…”

Her heart constricted, and she saw him properly; exhausted, barely conscious, in a cage underground. Bright blue streaks jumped from the bars to his skin. Anger, harsh and hot, boiled up in her chest and ruined all the hard work of staying cool. She hadn't let herself see, before-- had been distracted by Rinaldo. Perhaps he knew she would be upset, and so wisely delivered his information before she saw. No matter the intentions of Rinaldo or the others, she felt guilty. 

Guilt would only hinder her performance. She tamped it down and kept her voice low, stern, and spoke to Thomas. 

“Let’s go. Lee’s upstairs, she’s our target.”

“Alright. There’s a hole in the showers—we can climb up from there.” His voice was calm-- tight, but calm. Billie tried not to feel slightly vindicated at being more worried than him. 

She turned in to the showers, Thomas following along behind her.

“And the upstairs?”

“I believe Lee is… you’ll have to see for yourself, Billie. I can get you there.”

He slid out in front and led her around the walkway, up onto the pipes. They passed over an Eyeless humming and sweeping the floor. Thomas dropped down onto his belly, then down to the floor in a room with boilers.

“Just around here. Shh, they’ll smell you.”

“They’ll--?”

He pointed. Over the pipes she saw the bodies of wolfhounds, pacing in a cage. She heard Jeanette Lee’s voice, and someone else’s. She heard  _hounds_. She heard _Black Magic Beast_. Thomas was stiff and quiet in a way different than how he was stiff and quiet normally, and in the back of Billie's mind, Daud told her not to let this become a  _situation_. Billie shimmied up onto the pipes on her belly and took in as much of the room as she could-- a hound started whining, waving its head as if it had caught a scent, and Thomas anxiously tugged her leg, so she eventually came down and then moved to the door. It was ajar, and she had little issue pushing it fully open and skulking into the room while Jeanette and the man's backs were turned. They hid behind a crate and leaned out to more closely examine the target. When they came back together, Billie leaned to whisper.

“The key. On her belt.”

Thomas nodded. Billie slipped an electrical charge into her voltaic gun and leaned out again to check; the man and Jeanette were finishing their conversation. In a careful, precise movement, Billie took aim.

“ _Wait_ , Billie.” Thomas’ hand rested on her wrist, and she stopped and looked at him. His eyes glittered, hard and cold; focus,  _that_ shecould work with. “Let me deal with her.” 

“Alright.”

Billie shot the man talking to Jeanette with an electrical charge. He spasmed and went down with a heavy, fleshy  _thunk_. Thomas darted out and brought the hilt of his blade down on Jeanette’s head; she yelped aloud in surprise, stunned, and Thomas quickly wrestled one arm behind her back and clapped his free hand over her mouth. Recovering her senses, she tried to kick his knee out; he stepped around, shoving her against the wall and dazing her again. He pulled back. Maneuvered her to face the cage, where the hounds waited in expectant quiet but for heavy, huffing breaths.

“Hello, Jeanette.”

She snarled, tugging against his grip. Thomas shook her. “Do you know who we are?”

She made another noise, though it sounded more a curse than an answer, and wasn't coherent besides. Thomas hummed. “We're Daud's agents.” Low, and perfectly cordial, and so terribly patient as if he were explaining to a Novice. Jeanette wailed and struggled, though perhaps Daud managed to successfully fade from the local's memory; it was sundry fear, not the frozen terror of someone who knew what Daud's agents represented. “Don’t worry,” Thomas said, still neutral and polite in a way that made Billie’s blood run cold. “It will be over soon. You have a sword. That’s more than you gave him.”

He hauled her, screaming ineffectively behind the barrier of his hand, to press her against the cage door where the hounds prowled, growing gradually excited. Their teeth snapped shut inches away from Jeanette’s belly, though she was safe for now due to the cage. Thomas turned to look at Billie, and then canted his head at a button mounted on the wall next to her. Realization dawned on her twice over, something sickly blooming in her belly.

Thomas met her eyes steadily. Now, of all times, she wished for the mask, so she could not see the utter lack of emotion in his eyes. So he couldn't see the morbid hesitance in hers. “Open the door, Billie.”

She should have said no. The hounds bayed and howled now, slavering, strings of saliva between their teeth as Thomas denied them a slaughter. They tore at the bars and at each other in excitement, eyes glinting. In a moment of weakness, she pressed the button. Thomas flung Jeanette in with them, and Billie pressed the button again to shut the door. She took aim with her voltaic gun, through the bars, at Jeanette fending off the hounds; she screamed, and the voltaic gun split the air with a crack. Jeanette fell. Thomas watched on, impassive. He crossed his arms. Billie looked away. The sound of the gunshot might have brought company-- she didn't care. 

Control of the situation, slipped from her fingers in the time it took to press a button. Daud would be disappointed. She was disappointed, too, in herself-- for missing the cues. In Thomas, for letting go of his predictability and neutrality. It stung like a betrayal.

“Let’s go.”

Thomas swept out in front of her. Billie grabbed him by the arm.

“Thomas--”

“A  _cage,_  Billie.”

“You could have just shot her! That _wasn't_ revenge for Daud. You know he wouldn’t have condoned that—he would have shot her, or let her live in fear that he’d come back one day.”

“It needed to be done.” Thomas grit his teeth and pulled his arm from her grasp. Billie tugged him around and steered his back into the wall.

“It really didn’t.”

“Daud--”

“Listen to yourself, Thomas, Daud means as much to me as he does to you!”

Thomas tore himself away, face twisted into a mask of rage and disgust. “ _Tell that to Delilah!_ ”

He halted, frozen as if shot. Billie felt herself frozen, too. Her throat closed up. Thomas backed away, hand raised to his chest in a fist. Billie’s own hand stayed out, hanging in the air where Thomas’ shoulder had been. The tense moment seemed to have been cast in ice; a word would shatter it. 

“I--” he sounded small, regretful. “I didn’t mean that.” 

Billie let her hand drop.

“Don’t lie, Thomas. Let’s just go get Daud.”

This time, she led.

Rinaldo and Rulfio were still busy chatting up a group of the Eyeless, Rulfio gladly exhibiting a complicated routine of flourishes and stabs with his sword, Rinaldo complimenting the same Eyeless on her form. Thomas made his way to the control panel. Billie dropped down into the cage, and nodded up at him. He inserted the key; twisted it, flipped off the security system. Billie gripped onto Daud’s shoulder to keep him down long enough to tell him, quite firmly,  _we're getting you out of here_.

Daud coughed, hand resting on Billie's shoulder as he sat up in spite of her hand. “Please tell me you came here of your own free will.” 

Billie smiled, halfway to bemused. “Of course, Daud. Now let's get out of here.”

The next couple of minutes passed in a blur. Rinaldo unhooked a hyperbaric grenade from his belt, yelled  _bolt!,_  and then all hell broke loose. Daud was as helpful as he could be, all things considered; he transversed around the room, taking down Eyeless, and Billie's small party of former assassins quickly established whose side they were on by taking down the rest. Within the span of two minutes they were settled in the middle of the boxing ring surrounded by Eyeless in varying levels of unconsciousness, though a cursory examination suggested they were all still alive. 

Daud transversed to the center of their little ring and they all turned to face him.

“Report.”

Billie and Thomas spoke at the same time. Daud's brows creased in mild upset and resignation, like he'd just now realized the mistake of asking for a report from his two former lieutenants without specifying which one. Thomas did not speak again, so Billie delivered her report in as curt and brief of a fashion as she could; then, as Rinaldo started to fidget, Rulfio announced that they should leave. 

*

When they returned to the apartment Daud gathered them around the coffee table and offered to rekindle the Bond.

“What about you, Rinaldo?” Daud obviously thought he would be an easy target, and so went for him first. Rinaldo never really said no to anyone; he merely flaked out, or forgot, or got someone else to do it. It was something Billie admired and loathed in equal measure. This time, though, he shook his head.

“The Boss-- Zhukov,” and Billie noticed how he tripped on the word, like it left a bitter taste in his mouth-- he changed the subject. “I'm fine the way I am. It never really took in the first place, anyway.”

That was a lie, but well-crafted enough that all present willingly glossed over it. Daud nodded, and turned to Thomas expectantly-- to his credit, his brows already creased in resignation. 

“I signed my life and memory away to you once. This time, I hope only my loyalty will suffice.” Thomas held the eye contact steadily, and Billie internally congratulated him on growing a spine. Maybe the years away from Daud-- a leader himself-- had been good for him. 

Or she was just being uncharitable. He  _had_ replaced her, after all. He had snapped at her. He had just watched a woman be torn apart by hounds-- and she could tell he regretted it, as much as he could regret anything. 

Daud grunted and waved his hand, breaking the staring contest first.

“Rulfio?”

Rulfio raised both hands. “Like Thomas said. You don't need magic to have my loyalty, Daud. You never did.” 

He didn't press, and instead turned to Billie. She uncrossed her arms to instead put a hand on her hip, waiting for the inevitable offer. He already knew what she’d say; but not asking would leave a mystery.

“I suppose I shouldn't even ask you,” Daud said ruefully, and shook his head. Billie nodded, though she was smiling. He was too. 

“I'm my own master now.” 

That seemed to slot the final piece of the puzzle into place, and they shared one last look before  Rulfio cleared his throat.

“So, we saved Daud. What’s next?”

“We need somewhere to live,” Rinaldo broke in.

“And I suppose you're all going to stay here?” Rulfio folded his arms. Rinaldo sidled up to him, insufferably smug, and patted his shoulder. Daud said nothing, but Billie could feel a similar kind of smugness radiating off of him. Thomas had the decency to look apologetic. Billie sighed. 

“If you'll allow it.”

Rulfio faltered, like he hadn't expected her to have asked, but he recovered quickly enough. 

“I only have one guest room. Daud can take that one since it also has medical supplies in the adjacent bathroom. I don't care where the rest of you sleep.” 

They filtered off after that. Rulfio brought out tins of meat and a loaf of bread, thick and dark, which Billie recognized as coming from a bakery a few buildings down. Rulfio, it seemed, had stayed quiet through retirement; Billie looked more than she had on first arrival and could still find no evidence of employment. She finally asked over a meal of bread and fish, comforting in its familiarity. Rulfio tore a chunk out of his bread, setting it down on the plate, and freed up a hand to gesture. 

“I tutor noble's children in swordplay. It's not particularly engaging, but it pays well, and I’m respected.” 

“Seems you were always meant to teach,” Billie needled, and he shook his head. He was smiling, though, quickly hiding it behind a mug of pitch-black coffee. His understated humor was a harbor from Daud's dourness, from Rinaldo's forced levity, from Thomas' stiff propriety. From the doubts bubbling up within her, too. 

“I only pray that they don't turn to black magic as an augment.” 

He sighed and raised his mug to the sky. Billie chuckled and raised hers as well, a gesture of mocking solidarity. “Oh, we're ones to talk.”

Rulfio hummed. “Not so much anymore. The Abbey isn’t quite so strict here as it was in Dunwall, but sometimes the cost outweighs the benefit.” 

“Careful, Rulfio, you’re starting to sound like one of your other masked brothers.” 

Try as she might, Billie just couldn’t imagine him in a golden mask. It seemed antithesis to the calm, grounded teacher she used to know; from the dry, tired man she knew now. Rulfio took another long pull from his mug.

“Brothers no longer, Billie. I’m done with masks.” He looked at her. His eyes were colder, now. She turned to her own coffee and the conversation withered to nothing. In the next room, Billie heard Daud, Rinaldo, and Thomas conversing— _Galia_ , sliding off their tongues in varying shades of regretful and angry. What was left of her, even? Billie doubted nothing more than hollow ribs, a grinning skull in the muck. She’d burnt up, and out, and without regrets. 

Rulfio was gone by the time she looked up. Gone to bed, likely. It was getting late-- while they'd talked for a bit, scraps of words between bites, not for long enough to justify the twilight outside. She must have zoned out. 

Understandable. It had been a long and chaotic day. 

The sun swam below the horizon by the time she wandered around the house getting a lock on everyone’s location before she settled down for the night. Daud was asleep in the guest room, Thomas asleep in the corner. She found Rinaldo curled up in a comfortable chair with a book open in his lap. She took the couch across the room and fell asleep nearly before she finished laying down, truly exhausted for the first time in what seemed to be forever. This group—this small group, now reunited and only halfway aimless—it felt comfortable.

It felt good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments welcomed!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there sure is arson in this chapter

Billie woke choking, to frantic yelling. The couch, at least, was close to the window; she bolted up from it and coughed out a lungful of black smoke. The hallway was entirely ablaze. Rinaldo supported Rulfio with a hand looped under his arm and behind his back, the both of them staggering out from a curtain of acrid smoke. Rulfio coughed; Rinaldo had pulled his shirt up around his mouth and secured it in the back to use as a rudimentary barrier, but hadn't done the same for Rulfio. 

A beam fell in front of them and Rinaldo cursed loudly. A shower of sparks flew from the cracked wood and only added to the oppressive, acrid heat. 

“Billie! Help!”

Billie thought ironically, hysterically, that the masks would sure be useful now. 

“I’m coming!”

She dashed across the room and tugged the Whaler’s blade from the wall, bringing the hilt down hard on the beam. It splintered and collapsed into smoldering embers, the burning inside cracking open and letting the flames leap into the air. Rulfio cried out as embers met his skin. Billie cringed at the sound and wasted no time in slipping around to Rulfio’s other side, mirroring Rinaldo’s grip to help carry-drag him out. Through the thick and acrid smoke Daud-- tranversed from his flaming death trap of a bedroom, most likely-- called to them from the window, each detail of him thrown into relief by harsh orange light. 

“I’ll transverse him down; you two, bring him here.” 

“You got it,” Rinaldo rasped, and they made the last few yards to the window shakily before Daud reached out, clasped Rulfio’s shoulder, and transversed down to the street. Billie watched Rinaldo go out first, and he offered his hand.

“Come on, Billie, I can hear the supports cracking.” 

She spared one more look to the fire eating the apartment before she jumped down at Rinaldo’s side. They caught each other, rolling on the stone, and came to a stop next to Daud. He set Rulfio to lean against a streetlight, legs kicked out in front of him. Rulfio coughed, drew his knees to his chest, making terrible and dry-sounding gasping noises. Rinaldo leaned down and thumped on his back a couple times before Rulfio swatted his hands away and he retreated. For a minute, they all breathed and listened to the crackle of wood from the house, felt the gusts of dry heat that made Billie's eyes water. She threw the blade down onto the cobble. She already had her own, strapped to her hip; she didn’t quite know why she’d felt the need to use his, if not for the heat and confusion touching her actions. At least now Rulfio would have a weapon.

Rinaldo eyed the group critically, and then a look of utter horror spread across his face. Billie stiffened. Her heart jumped to her throat.

“Thomas is still in there.”

Daud cursed, and grabbed Rinaldo by the collar before he could leap up and go back into the burning apartment. “You two, watch Rulfio. I’ll get Thomas.” 

He disappeared, splintering the air. Billie almost couldn't pick apart the ashes of transversal from the flakes falling from the apartment-- she bit back a sharp curse and knelt next to Rulfio as he thrashed against the lightpole, halfway to keep him from bolting and halfway to keep herself. Rinaldo made his way back over in nervous strides, hands clenching and unclenching. 

“I should have—“

“You did all that you could,” Billie broke in. “You saved Rulfio. He would have choked to death in his sleep if you hadn’t gotten him out.”

“Who did it?” Rinaldo looked up to the windows. Flames licked the outside. Already, there was screaming coming from across the street and within a minute Billie knew that people would flood from the crowded buildings. Fervently, she hoped Daud would hurry up. She forced herself to focus instead on Rulfio, who was pawing at her arm and trying to speak over the roaring blaze.

“Tell Daud there's elixirs in his room, in the chest. If he can go back one more time--”

Billie shushed him, but nodded. 

“Your throat sounds burned. Don't talk for now.” 

Rulfio spared her a look of exasperated frustration, but obligingly fell quiet but for intermittent hacking coughs. Daud finally appeared, Thomas slung over his shoulder.

“—is he?”

“Just unconscious. He’s still breathing.” Daud set him down next to Rulfio. Billie checked his pulse. Sure enough, it was hummingbird-fast but there. Burns spread up his arms, but his face was clear but for scars. Billie sat back on her knee and haunches and stared at the wreckage of Rulfio’s house—she looked over, and he was doing the same, staring numbly into the flames. She stood and faced Daud, remembering Rulfio's request for the elixirs.

“Daud. Rulfio says there's elixirs in your room. Can you manage one more transversal?” 

Daud grit his teeth. “We'll see, Billie.”

He flickered out of existence again. Rinaldo sat next to Rulfio, knees to his chest, leaving Billie as the only one standing. She leaned against the streetlamp. They held terse, worried quiet-- Rulfio coughing, Rinaldo staring at Thomas, Billie staring up to the window-- until Daud appeared next to them. Elixirs clinked in his pockets and he doled them out, three only. It was lucky, then, that they were used to rationing. Billie took the first and swallowed a mouthful that tasted mineral and thick, then passed the glass vial off to Rinaldo. 

Daud passed one to Rulfio. He downed half right away, wincing at the slimy slide of it. He knew better than to wait it out. A burned throat was potentially life-threatening, smoke clinging to his lungs even more dangerous.

“We can go to the  _Wale_ ,” she offered, hoarse and almost a cough. The elixir helped to where it didn't hurt; she still sounded terrible. “She’s about to sink, but she’ll do until we can get somewhere else.”

“I want to know who burned down my damned house,” Rulfio rasped. He leaned over and tugged Thomas to lean on him, assessing the damage. Deciding that he wasn't direly injured he readied the remainder of his elixir and, shaking Thomas awake, prompted him to drink it. Thomas hissed in pain, but obeyed; eyes bleary and red with ash. 

Daud knelt and accepted the last bit of elixir from Rinaldo. There was fire in his eyes, too.

“I know who did it. Those damn Eyeless. But we can’t go after them right now.” 

“Uncharacteristic of you, Daud,” Billie interrupted. It was easier to comment than to look at the fire. 

“They kept me in a cage for months, Billie.” Daud rounded on her. “And you broke me out. They know, Billie, and nowhere is safe until we get out of Karnaca  _now_ , before they know we’re not dead. I can't risk you, Billie.”

A second later they both seemed to catch the words, and Daud spoke again, amended himself. “I can't risk any of you.”

Billie looked away, down. “Alright, alright. Let’s go.” 

Rulfio scoffed. “You can go, but I don’t think we’re--” he elbowed a barely-responding Thomas-- “in any shape to go anywhere.”

Billie groaned. “I’ll help you. Rinaldo?”                                                                           

“Sure, Billie!” There was a responding smile, sharp and full of teeth. He leaned down and scooped Thomas over his shoulder. Thomas wailed quietly in resigned pain, forehead thudding against Rinaldo’s back, and his hands fisted in the hem of Rinaldo’s shirt. He didn’t make any further noise or struggle so Billie suspected that he’d passed out. So long as he didn’t  _die_. 

She helped Rulfio to his feet and looped one arm under his, around his back. Nodding to Daud and making sure they were all accounted for, the group set off to the  _Wale_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bandits on the road, and the group picks up a new member.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're more than halfway done. MORE THAN HALFWAY DONE! I'm a low chaos kinda guy so nobody dies today.

They stayed on the  _Wale_  for a week. Rinaldo and Billie were the only ones who could safely go into the city without being recognized, and while Thomas could have he was in no condition to go anywhere. Rulfio stayed with him on the ship with Daud, and they passed the time talking about the past. Day after day the ship sat lower in the water; Billie and Rinaldo made contact with a woman interested in selling a parcel of land some miles out from Karnaca. Daud took up communication with her and Rinaldo resigned himself to ferrying neatly written correspondence, smelling of rosewater and perfume, to the  _Wale_. Billie explored Karnaca, and got to know the Black Markets. It was a sound investment of her time if not necessarily legal, and by the time Daud announced that they were going to purchase the land—a vineyard (and how they’d laughed at that! And how Rinaldo had made some snide comment about finally living somewhere with a roof!) she’d built a decent web of connections. She’d taken contracts, too, to bring in some extra coin. 

By the time they were ready to set off—the 8th Day of the Month of Wind, her journal chimed-- Daud, Rulfio, and Thomas were mostly recovered from the worst of their aches and burns. Thomas still kept his arms wrapped up in bandages—he’d gotten the worst of it, but never once had Billie heard a complaint. She’d barely heard anything from him, actually, since his outburst at the fight club. Rulfio, on the other hand, rightfully grumbled until they were all sick of it. The day before they set off Rinaldo was sent off to make a deposit in Michael’s bank, and when he came back they finished packing everything necessary. 

As the group vanished up the stairs to the carriage that would take them to Karnaca, Billie hung back, if only to see the  _Wale_ vanish beneath the waves. She didn’t have to go with them—she could go somewhere else, buy a new ship. Her main goal in saving Daud was closure, not whatever _this_ was. 

In the end, she turned and rejoined the group.

Once they got out of the crowded Karnaca streets and into the dirt paths of the countryside Rinaldo filled the silence with stories, as he was wont to do. Nobody stopped him or told him to be quiet. They continued like that for about a half hour, nothing but the chirping birds, crunch of gravel, and Rinaldo’s sweeping tales to fill the silence. Nobody passed them, and they didn’t catch up with anybody—Daud signed to them to be on the alert when they saw a group of people coming around from the other side of a hill, and Billie noticed with a start at how immediately the group of them responded. Her hand closed around the hilt of her blade. It was solid. Comforting.  _Familiar_. The action of following Daud's orders hadn't left her bones, no matter how long it had been; perhaps she should have been offended. As the group drew closer Daud tugged the woolen scarf that covered his nose down around his neck. 

“Bandits,” Thomas said, and sure enough Billie saw the weapons hanging from their belts; blades held in their hands, expecting a fight. Old habits died hard.

“Remember, we’re peaceful travelers,” Rinaldo butted in, but mirth colored his tone and answering scoffs from nearly every member of the contingent only proved how much of a joke it was. Billie rolled her eyes, slipped into a sharper state of mind; analyzing each movement, and letting everyone else speak. She had something to say—it could be said when they weren’t being fools. And this was, of all things, foolish. Trained assassins arguing with street thugs! There was posturing. _Threats_. Rinaldo being an utter ass, like he was _trying_ to provoke a fight. Rulfio, of all people, joining in as Daud grit his teeth. Billie, too, was gritting her teeth. Rinaldo made a very offensive hand motion. Billie would have groaned if it didn’t betray the cohesion of the group-- he _was_ goading them into a fight. Billie quietly decided to depend on the hope that none of them-- the former assassins, at least, _of all people_ \-- wanted too much blood spilt here. It was a good thing that Rinaldo was making sure it skewed in their favor, even if his methods were juvenile at best and strikingly immature at worst.

 The leader of the bandits was missing two fingers off of his right hand-- he had a vicious blade, hooked at the end, like someone had decided to make a rapier into a gaff hook halfway through the forging process. He was glaring, mainly at Rinaldo, but also at Daud—he knew who the leader was. Billie didn’t know whether she should be offended, especially since she was the one to bring the group together in the first place, in this confrontation she would really prefer to pick and choose her opponent.

Small mercies.

She was pulled back to reality by a threat, and by Rinaldo's hand tapping briefly on her elbow. Looking out for her, even now, even though they were around the same age. Even though she didn’t necessarily need it.

“Oh, you've made a mistake.” Rinaldo didn't sound angry, merely amused, and Billie realized why he'd demanded her attention. The tension had mounted; thick enough that Billie thought the first person to draw their blade would cut it.

Daud cracked his knuckles and finally, _finally_ spoke up. “I recommend you stand down. You have no idea what you're up against.”

The leader of the bandits, a stocky and mean-looking man who seemed to only pronounce the first three-quarters of every word, curled his lip. Shook his head.  

“And  _you_  have no idea what we're down to do, so I recommend you hand over your valuables and we'll all part ways the better for it.” 

Daud glared. Billie, for lack of an urge to play peacemaker, glared right alongside him. One of the bandits to his left was blank-faced in fear, almost shaking, looking like he was about ready to bolt. He looked familiar, but Billie couldn't quite place it. She didn't have much more time to think about it; the bandit leader jumped into action, sword drawn, and the group of them responded in kind. Daud took on the leader, fire in his eyes, and Billie went directly towards one who tried to strike at Daud while he was distracted. That left four more; Rinaldo took on two, neatly winding in and out of their defense with a grace the other Whalers envied him for. He might have been a cureless flirt, more charming than any man had any right to be, but he was a soldier alongside them; always had been, and better at head-on attacks than the rest of them. Thomas intercepted one that tried to attack Rinaldo's exposed back, the two of them fighting back-to-back. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, Rulfio driving the scared one from the pack, and she knew why; he was fighting with a Whaler sword, and well. With how old he looked, Rulfio had probably trained him. She almost regretted missing the show.

Almost.

Billie grit her teeth and locked blades with her opponent. He had wild hair, wild eyes, missing an ear and a hand. A mean-looking hook hung in place of the missing hand. Her own arm throbbed in sympathy, but she sure didn't feel any; she ducked back, kicked him in the gut as he swung the hook at her head. He stumbled back and cursed. She heard Daud grunt, heard Rinaldo spit condescending encouragement to the bandits ineffectively swiping at him in desperate, untrained motions. Billie nearly lost her head to a particularly vicious swing of the bandit's blade; she ducked under, elbowing him sharply in the back. He cursed and stumbled forward, kicking up dust and pebbles from the road. She spun around and kicked his knee out, sending him crashing to the dirt. She followed. In a quick movement, she twisted her hand into a chunk of hair and slammed his face down—perhaps not as well as she’d wanted, she heard a sharp _crack_ and he screamed. He yelled, once more, and she smashed his forehead into the ground again; he moaned and fell still. She looked up in time to see Thomas slam the hilt of his blade down on his opponent's crown. They wailed. He was not so kind as Billie; in a quick motion, his blade clocked them neatly on the temple. The bandit crumpled without the advantage of consciousness to catch themself, and Billie was too distracted by Thomas' look of smug satisfaction to notice that he'd only used the flat. He then leapt toward one of the unlucky bandits still fighting Rinaldo, wrapping an arm around his throat and holding him firm until the frantic struggles melted to unconsciousness. Rinaldo took the opportunity to do the same with the other. Daud dispatched his opponent with a kick to the knee and a blow to the head, and they turned their collective attention to the sharp clanging of steel still ringing behind them.

Rulfio was, of course, using it as a teaching moment. Daud wiped his blade and sheathed it—they followed his lead and coalesced at his side as Rulfio tormented his unlucky opponent. Billie could have winced in pity at how one-sided it was; seeing the flash of the sun against the steel of his blade, she thought better of it and settled down to watch. 

“I thought he was still recovering from the fire,” Rinaldo commented. Thomas scoffed and elbowed him. Daud grunted a warning, and they both fell quiet. 

“I trained you better than this!” Rulfio darted in to break his defense-- and did so, neatly-- and struck him across the throat. The man stumbled backwards, winded. Rulfio lunged and drove him further still. The rest of them watched, surrounded by unconscious bandits. Whaler swordwork against Whaler swordwork was always entertaining, and while Rulfio had always been a master the bandit had a distinctly Serkonan flair in his style, panicked and defensive as it was. The blades flashed in the sun, brighter than before. Billie noted in pleased approval the man's quick reactions; Rulfio tried to hit him on the inside of the wrist, but he lunged into a roll and swept under Rulfio's arm, forcing him to turn around and face the glare of the sun.

 For a moment, the man seemed to be holding his own; falling into a neat sidestep, blocking and redirecting, feet scraping semicircles on the ground as they circled each other. Rulfio’s opponent fell into it with long-forgotten ease. Obviously, he most he’d had to do since leaving the Whalers was sundry brawls and intimidation, but hadn’t let his skills go rusty. Against any other Master, he’d be a genuine challenge.

Rulfio, though, had him outmatched; even with the sun in his eyes. His brows furrowed in concentration as the other grew more frantic; Rulfio finally succeeded in hitting him on the inside of the wrist with the flat of his blade, and his blade dropped from his hand. Rulfio jabbed at his shoulder and forced him to skip back to avoid being impaled entirely; he yipped in pain, feet nearly catching on each other, and tried, failed to move past Rulfio and reach his blade. He tried to roll under again; Rulfio kicked him in the side, solid at the soft part between hip and ribs, and he yelped again. Rulfio then kicked the blade to him where he was sprawled in the road. Rulfio held himself with a distinct air of superiority; Billie couldn't fault him for that. It _was_ pretty sad. As he lunged for the blade Rulfio swiped him firmly across the shoulder with the flat. The meaning was clear enough; the next time, it wouldn't be the flat. The man threw his hands up and dropped his knee, let the blade fall again, head bowed. His blade laid in the dust next to him, where he could grab it and renew the fight if he so chose. 

Instead, he looked almost as if he'd rather collapse in on himself. His hands shook in the air, mostly from exertion but Billie ventured to see fear. 

“I give, I give! Mercy!”

Rulfio stood straight, tip of the blade pointed down at the man's throat. For a moment, Billie thought he was finished, but then he kicked the man square in the chest-- he went down with a pained gasp, hands falling next to his shoulders. Thomas looked like a hunted man, though the expression passed as soon as she saw it. Rinaldo winced in sympathy. Daud, she noticed, was wearing an expression of carefully affected neutrality; gauging Rulfio's actions. Sure enough, when he was assured that the man wasn’t going anywhere soon he looked up and over to Daud. For permission? For direction? Either way, Daud willingly spoke up. 

“Not yet, Rulfio. What's your name?”

That was directed at the man, his eyes darting from the sword at his throat to Daud.

“Domenico,” he muttered. Daud cleared his throat. “Domenico,” he repeated, louder. Billie recognized him, finally, with his thin face and scarred nose. He'd matured-- and from a scrawny fifteen year-old, at that. He had a new scar from what she remembered, one that split his lip and chin in an ugly pale valley. A smaller one cut through his right brow. 

“Domenico,” Daud echoed, and then mildly and disapproving, “this is beneath you.” 

Domenico flushed, hands curling into fists. “It's the only thing I know. Sir.” 

Rulfio’s blade prodded at his throat and he tipped his head back uneasily. When he spoke again, his voice was deceptively steady. “What are you going to do?”

“We've left that life behind us,” Daud continued. Rulfio stepped back and sheathed his blade, grumbling under his breath, but Billie knew that by now he was more bark than bite. If he’d wanted to kill Domenico, he’d be dead. Domenico met his eyes, clearly confused but still flush with relief. Billie resigned herself to explaining. She’d been doing a  _lot_ of that, lately. She uncrossed her arms and gestured. 

“What he's trying to say is you're welcome to join us.”

He shifted from his back to a kneel, and then to his feet. He brushed dirt off of his elbows and looked at the group, then to the unconscious bodies of his fellows. A long time ago, she would have thought nothing of slaughtering them. Now, a warm spark of pride kindled in her chest at playing her hand more carefully and coming out untouched.

“Where are you going? What are you-- we--” he stumbled on that, but caught himself. A little too easily; turning down Daud had likely never even occurred to him-- “going to  _do_?”

Billie stared him down, perhaps more sharply than she should have. He used to flinch away. Now, he held her gaze. “We're going to run a vineyard. We're on the way to settle things with the owner.” 

He hesitated-- caught between amusement and something else-- but finally nodded. Daud started walking again, Thomas and the others falling in step behind him. Domenico plucked his blade from the dust and trotted until he was level with Rulfio. “But I just  _attacked_  you--”

Rulfio scoffed. “After a performance like that, I wouldn't worry about you slitting our throats as we sleep.” 

Domenico huffed in return, scandalized. “I was holding my own against you pretty well, wasn't I?”

“I let you. Ingrate,” Rulfio muttered, and cuffed Domenico upside the head. The conversation drifted as they continued on, bandits fading behind them, farmland springing from the gorse. The vineyard couldn't be too far ahead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Week: Death


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, steering this story wildly from its original premise: DEATH OF THE AUTHOR BAYBEE  
> warning for semi-graphic description of a man with his eye cut out  
> also i meant to post this on halloween but i got distracted

Domenico originally seemed rather excited to be reunited and on his way to a vineyard, but Billie caught him looking more uncomfortable the closer they got.

“You seem jumpy.” 

Sure enough, he nearly leapt out of his skin. Instead, he waved his hands in the air alongside his words. “Well, the gang I used to run with-- the ones you left in the dirt-- we always avoided this one place. Boss said it stunk of bad magic. You know, I used to never believe in that magic stuff before the Bond and I guess I hoped Brigmore would be the end of witches and me, but... Weird things happen at that place, and we had some fool go on the property at night and he just didn't come back. They sent Overseers but we didn't see them go back to their Abbey either.”

Billie hummed. Domenico gladly tore away from the conversation and entered into a lively debate with Rinaldo, and she heard him talking about how talking about the place made it seem worse. Left to her own thoughts, Billie hoped it wasn't what she suspected. 

The vineyard was a dump, put lightly. The vines were barely tended and there was what seemed to be a small vegetable garden in complete disrepair-- what poked from the earth was entirely brown and sickly shades of green. Trees studded the unworked land, but Billie could see evidence of figs and so figured they would be useful regardless. Rose bushes lined the house, alternating vibrant red and icy white, climbing up the wall and windowsills, thorns upward of an inch sprouting from the glossy stems. 

“They shouldn't be blooming at this time of year,” Daud muttered. The bright camaraderie wisped away and left uneasy quiet in its stead. “Thomas, Rulfio, case the house. Billie, take Domenico and check around the grounds. Rinaldo?”

Rinaldo nodded, strutting out in front. “You got it, boss. I'll talk to the lovely lady and hand over the coin.”

Daud tossed him a pouch. “She'll have to go to Michael's bank for the whole payment. That's where the rest of it’s being stored, if I remember correctly. I'm going to hang behind. If she's what I think she is, I don't want her to see me.” 

Billie motioned toward Domenico and then crossed her arms, leading the way. Daud and Rinaldo faded away as they walked up the dirt-and-gravel road to the farmhouse. She started at the very edge; fat orange pumpkins grew, sharing the space with bright red tomatoes. The soil smelled of rich compost. Domenico followed along at her heels and stuffed his hands in his pockets, starting to hum quietly. Sometimes Billie missed the days where discipline meant silence. Now, though, it helped her to keep an ear out for Domenico’s position, and after a couple of seconds she figured it was on purpose. If this place had  _bad magic_ , like he said, then keeping track of each other couldn’t hurt. Not at all.

She leaned down to examine a frond sticking out of the ground. It crumbled at the lightest of touches. Diseased, sickly plants. Roses in perpetual bloom. This place made her skin crawl. 

“We’ll have to till thoroughly. This soil is…”

“Bad,” Domenico chipped in. Having no better answer, Billie allowed it to stand. “Then why are the other things growing so well?”

“Compost.” Billie looked back at him. He shrugged, a  _fair-enough_  motion. 

They made the entire circuit without any fuss. The vines, plundered by crows and smaller songbirds, stood nearly barren. A scarecrow in a jaunty hat and scarf drew some commentary from both Billie and Domenico. By the time they returned to Daud the other two were with him as well, Thomas standing straight-backed and forcibly neutral. If she hadn't known him, she would have been fooled. Rulfio frowned tightly, and as soon as Billie and Domenico rejoined the group awkwardly hovering at the property entrance he paced to Billie. He sidled up to her, voice low. Domenico reported to Daud and so his voice, covert by design, stayed unheard by anyone other than Billie.

“Billie, come with me. Down to the adega.” Rulfio tugged her sleeve and she followed. The wine cellar was directly under the house and down a flight of old stone steps—they’d seen it from the edge of the property. Billie snagged a lantern from a hook on the door and lit it, holding it in front of her to ward away the dark. There was already some wax cooling in the reservoir at the base of the candlewax and the metal still felt warm from contact, evidently Rulfio or Thomas'. They'd been down here, and hadn't liked what they saw. The temperature cooled as they went down. Billie expected the wet scent of earth, or maybe grapes. The air, instead, thickened and made her want to gag.

The cellar was rank with the sour stench of fear and neglect. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she actually did have to fight back a retch. Billie held the lantern and inched forward with Rulfio close behind, holding his sword loosely; that it wasn't held at the ready assured Billie whatever was down here wasn't a threat. When the circle of light reached the back, Billie gasped; it illuminated the limp body of an Overseer, unmasked. His skull-like mask laid a few yards away, split in half as if with a chisel. She looked closer. The man's face was a mess; one side wet with bitter tears, the other with blood, and a wave of nausea rushed through her when she realized his eye was missing. The light seemed to jog him to consciousness; he jerked against the chain keeping him lashed to the thick wooden shelves. The ties were good; he couldn't go much of anywhere.

“No, no, _no_.” His voice was so small in the cramped space of the cellar. A _cry_ , almost, weak and wailing like a whipped pup.

“I won't! I won't do it, not even if you take my other eye!” His voice rose to nearly a shriek; terror bled through. He sounded awfully young-- he couldn't have been more than Emily's age, if that, and it caused something to constrict in Billie's chest. 

“She  _is_  a witch,” Billie growled, now certain; if the roses hadn't convinced her, this sure did. 

Rulfio nodded. “Look at his throat.”

Billie did. A rudimentary collar wound around his neck, seeming at first to be just discolored rope-- as her eyes adjusted, Billie noted with horror that what she had originally taken to have been woven hemp revealed thorns, of the same size and unnatural sharpness that they'd noted on the edge of the property. 

Billie stepped forward. His defiance turned to pleas. 

“ _No_ , no, stay away from me! I won't,  _I won't!_  Please!”

Billie fumbled in her pocket for an electrical charge. Rulfio pretended not to notice, but he took the lantern from her. She lined up the shot; it wasn't hard. He was shouting again, but he was hoarse and weak and so it came out as little more than agonized whimpers of _no_ , _please_. He wasn't even struggling, just shaking like a hound in a trap. She shot. It hit him square in the belly and he convulsed, once, and fell still. 

“He'll be down for an hour. We need to dispose of that witch before she comes down here and sees.”

“I'll do it,” Rulfio said, perhaps a mite too eager. “I can loiter around the entrance and slit her throat as she comes.” 

“I was thinking of handing her to the Overseers.” Billie was, of course, mildly disgusted at herself for even considering it. Rulfio waved a hand. 

“Death is a kinder fate. Besides, we need to escape as much notice as possible.”  _You’ve handed people to the Overseers before_ died on his tongue. She was grateful for that. 

“I thought Daud said we were done with killing.” That was less of a sentiment she shared and more of a test. Rulfio scoffed. 

“He might be, but some people just have to die.”

“I thought  _you_  said you didn't kill anymore,” she tried, again. 

Rulfio shook his head. “I'm willing to make an exception this once. He knows we're here and he might tell her, and I've killed witches before.” 

“You're right.” Billie shrugged. She did not say what she really thought, which was that Rulfio was far too much of a mother hen for his own good and likely saw a Novice in chains instead of an Overseer. “I'll look for bolt cutters to get him out. I doubt she used a key. How did the house look, by the way?”

“Clean, if neglected. We couldn’t find anything wrong with it, but there is a shrine in the attic. One rune, two bone charms. One corrupted. We tossed that one in the fireplace.” Rulfio crossed his arms briefly, and then unfolded them as if thinking better of it. He paced to the stairs. Billie followed.

“I’ll tell Daud once we’re settled in. For now, you deal with the witch. Thomas knows?”

“Thomas knows,” Rulfio confirmed.

“I’ll have him clear out a spare room, then.”

Rulfio huffed quietly. “You do know about the Overseer Daud found in the old Brigmore Manor? He told me on the way back. They’d forced the poor sod to eat one of his fellows. He pitied him, I suspect. I don’t think Daud will take well to having an Overseer in the house, regardless. He can stay in my room.” 

Billie hummed. “Then we can consider this a test to see how true he is to his word.”

Rulfio muttered something under his breath, which Billie didn’t care enough to decipher, and they ascended the stairs together.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The killers adapt to domesticity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I call this my apology chapter for making you all read everything else.

**_15 th Day, Month of Wind _ **

The house saw much cleaning the first day after they moved in. Domenico took it upon himself to uproot each and every rosebush studding the side of the house and burn them all, the body of the witch tangled in her own thorns and all of it rising up to the sky in dark, wreathing plumes of smoke. Thomas gravitated toward the fields and nobody stopped him. Rinaldo and Rulfio paired up and, with terrifying efficiency, swept each room in the house. Billie cleared out the upper story; Daud cleared the attic. When she saw it later in the day, the shrine now sat squat and foreboding in a corner instead of in the center and Daud glowered for an entire day. Rulfio spent an entire day helping Domenico set up a semblance of a garden while Rinaldo went to Karnaca in search of food past canned goods. Billie picked figs. Domenico made a small fuss about baking tartlets, and after some prying revealed that the tenth was Thomas' birthday; further prodding uncovered that he knew all of their birthdays, which Billie found mildly worrisome. Daud tried to read a book on growing grapes. Rulfio shared his room with the Overseer, who was handily avoided by anyone else, and it was only due to the lack of death’s stench and the ash pile from the roses remaining dormant that Billie knew he was still alive.

All in all, by the time the vast majority of them met in the kitchen around dinnertime five days later antsiness dominated the air. Daud sat over a book. Thomas sat over paperwork, arms bandaged neatly to protect his still-healing burns. He was the one to break the silence.

“We have plenty of extra space. Rinaldo says to tell you he wants a chicken coop.”

“We could have hounds again!” Domenico leaned over the counter and looked hopefully towards Daud.

“Hounds?” Billie side-eyed Daud, who now looked distinctly disgruntled. Domenico looked rather as if he’d swallowed a large bug-- he must have forgotten that she wasn’t there for the last few months of the existence of the Whalers proper. Thomas pursed his lips and focused intently on the ledger he was copying down. Rulfio rolled his eyes. Billie decided to swiftly put Domenico out of his misery and tapped smartly on the table to catch his attention. “Nico, go find Rinaldo and tell him to come down here. Apparently, we’re having a meeting.” 

Daud actually growled, rather like a hound himself. Billie did not find it intimidating, though Domenico quickly fled the room. The porch door swung shut with a clack. Daud finally relented and spoke, though not without some measure of regret. “Some of the Abbey’s hounds came into the Flooded District, and we retrained them. It kept some of the more reckless Novices out from underfoot, and they made acceptable guards.” 

“How do we know the hounds won’t attack Rinaldo’s chickens?” Rulfio butted in, elbows down on the counter in the space Domenico had vacated.

“They’ll be in a coop and he can train the hounds to leave them be or protect them,” Thomas responded, and shuffled a few papers around. Rulfio huffed. Thomas settled his papers and continued. “And theoretically, we could sell the eggs. They’re good for up to a month after laying, so if we bought a space at a farmer’s market we could draw in extra profit.”

The group of them stared. “How do you know so much about raising chickens, Thomas?”

Thomas wrinkled his nose. “Some of us do read for fun, Rulfio.” 

Rulfio took the bait, and Daud and Billie shared a long-suffering look of exasperation as Thomas and Rulfio leapt headlong into an argument about  _raising chickens_ , of all things. Rulfio had gotten as far as angry hand gestures, Thomas as far as shaking his fist by the time the argument saw a timely and welcomed death.

“So, I hear you all talking about chickens?” The back door clacked shut again and Rinaldo swept into the room, Domenico trotting along at his heels. 

Daud slammed his hand down on the table. Their heads all snapped to look at him, and he cleared his throat. “Alright. Rinaldo, you can have chickens  _provided_  you have somewhere to put the coop. Domenico, you can have hounds, but you have to train, feed, and wash them, and— _what_ , Thomas.”

Thomas actually managed to look bashful, and set his pencil down. “Nico’s getting hounds, and Rinaldo’s getting chickens, so can I get goats?”

Daud shook his head. “Chickens contribute eggs. Hounds can guard. Goats do nothing but shit and eat.”

Rulfio sniffed. “Well, so does Domenico, and we keep him around anyways.” 

Domenico opened his mouth to retort. Daud pounded on the table again.

“Thomas, you can have a goat! You’re all dismissed!”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come to clean the cellar. It's not the only thing that needs some work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so I realized I made this thing 10 chapters before I consolidated it into 9, so... we'll find out next week whether we're getting bonus chapter or not. Also! I have some snippets and scraps that got either taken out or run parallel to the story, some of which focus on backstory etc. Let me know if you guys are interested in reading them!  
> EDIT!!: So, I wrote a final chapter... and it just seemed slapdash and out of the spirit of this fic. So keep an eye out for the stuff I'm going to post, creatively titled Clippings, which will have the cut chapter and lots of other stuff I played with as I was writing this. Thanks to everyone who read, kudo'd, and commented!

**_1 st Day, Month of Darkness_ **

As was becoming routine, Billie woke with the sun and the unholy sound of Rinaldo’s one rooster. The hens clucked in the coop. She yawned; stretched; followed her morning routine to the letter, and finally meandered down to the kitchen where Rinaldo was busy brooding sleepily over a mug of coffee. Domenico had his head cradled in his crossed arms, dozing already, arms coated up to the elbow in a fine dusting of dirt. Billie smacked him on the shoulder.

“No dirt on the counter.”

He moaned piteously and sat up. Rinaldo shoved a cup of coffee at him, and then another at Billie.

“Early morning?” Billie finally offered after a long pull of bitter coffee, and Domenico nodded. 

“I had to take the pups out to pee a hundred times. At around the tenth time I just gave up and started to weed the garden.” 

Rinaldo laughed. “You know this wouldn’t have happened if you kept them outside like Daud told you to, instead of taking them into your bed like some kind of Overseer.” 

Domenico muttered. One of the pups barked at his feet. He leaned down to scoop it up, pressing a kiss to a broad forehead. Its tiny tail  _swacked_  his arm in the steady cadence of a windmill. Paws, too big for the body they were attached to, kneaded at his shoulder. “Rulfio seems to have taken a shine to Totò.”

Rinaldo hummed. “And which one is that?”

“This is Chicco.” Domenico set the pup down on the counter, where it took a few cautious steps on the slick surface before yipping and sliding right toward Rinaldo’s coffee. Effortlessly, Rinaldo lifted the coffee with one hand and the pup with the other.

“And how many are there?” Rinaldo asked, looking down at what Billie thought was certainly another butting into his leg. Yapping proved her right. Chicco enthusiastically joined in. Billie smiled into her cup.

“Well, there’s Chicco, Totò, Zeca, and Biela.”

“And--?” 

“You have Chicco, Rulfio took Totò to his  _own_  bed, and Biela is barking at you.” Domenico cast his eyes around the kitchen, yawning. “Oh, and Zeca is asleep in front of the stove.” 

Rulfio descended the stairs with a tiny brown bundle in his arms. Domenico’s next pull of coffee was distinctly smug before he called out to him.

“There’s coffee for you. Where’s Daud?”

Billie jumped in. “He went to Karnaca to pick up supplies. He says to clean out the cellar today, and to find out something to do with the Overseer in your room. He can't stay here forever, and you haven't given us many updates on him. How is he, by the way?”

“We can’t just keep calling him the Overseer,” Rinaldo noted idly. Billie hummed. Rulfio set Totò down on the counter, where Domenico scooped the scrap of fur up into his arms and set it down on the floor after showering the wriggly bundle with kisses. 

“He’s recovering quickly, all things considered. It’s taking him some time to adjust to the missing eye. We took a walk around the bedroom yesterday, but he hasn’t told me his name yet. So, no. I suppose we can keep calling him  _the Overseer_  for a while longer.” Rulfio crossed his arms.

“We could always call him Khulan,” Domenico suggested.

Rulfio shook his head even as his lips twitched up at the jibe to the current High Overseer. “He’s not from Wei-Ghon. He looks like he’s from Cullero.” 

“They all look the same with the mask on,” Rinaldo offered callously. His eyes glittered. Billie shook her head.

“Overseer will do for now. You should settle with naming hounds.” She finished up her cup and set it in the sink. “Rinaldo, you cooked. Domenico, you’ve been up all night. Rulfio?”

Rulfio waved his hands. “I’ll clean up. Don’t worry yourself about it.” 

“You should make Thomas do it. He’s done nothing but tend the vines, watch his goat, and sleep.” Rinaldo grinned. Domenico grunted. 

“Lay off Thomas. He’s still all burned up.” 

Rinaldo had, at least, the decency to be put off. “Aw, Void, Nico, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I want him to heal, just like the rest of us. I just don’t think that him being all on his lonesome is going to help with that.”

Billie had to admit, he had a point. “I’ll ask him to come help clean the cellar. Might get a little crowded down there, though, with four of us.”

If Thomas hadn't just been avoiding her, and had been avoiding everyone, then perhaps his outburst was less particularly at her and more at the world in general, and she was just caught in the crossfire. She'd known him upwards of twenty years, and never seen him lose his temper like that before.

“There’s five of us,” Domenico cut in. Billie waved at Rulfio.

“Rulfio can take over with clearing dead vines today, right?” She knew it was a lot, but she also knew that Rulfio could handle a lot. 

“Sure thing.” He flicked a two-fingered salute. “I’ll check on the Overseer and tell Daud where you lot are if he gets back early, and I suppose I ought to get some sort of meal started too, then.” 

“Take the hounds out to the vines with you. I’ve been training them with bits of meat to come when they’re called.” Domenico was holding Chicco again. Rulfio nodded.

“Sure. I do love Totò, he's such a charming pup.” 

Domenico grinned. “You think every hound is charming.” 

“Because they are,” Rulfio retorted, but it lacked teeth entirely and Domenico's smile didn't waver. 

The rest of breakfast passed in a subdued, though cozy, manner. Thomas came down, bleary-eyed, and accepted a cup of coffee from Rinaldo. He mumbled an endearment to Biela and tossed her a scrap of bacon, to which he was promptly mobbed by the other three and robbed of all his bacon in short order. 

Domenico laughed. Billie gave him one of hers.

After breakfast, they trooped out to the cellar entrance. Sometime during breakfast Domenico had disappeared into the garden again, but until they started cleaning proper he wouldn’t be needed. Billie opened the door, reached inside and plucked a lantern from its hook.

“Rinaldo?”

He took the lantern and held it for her as she lit it. Flame jumped to life in the glass cage and she blew on the match to put it out, waving it in the air for good measure. Rinaldo shut the lantern hatch and thrust the light at Thomas. 

Thomas jerked back and glared at Rinaldo. “You hold it.”

“Thomas--”

“Just hold it, Rinaldo,” Billie broke in. Thomas shot her a look full of relief. “We need to clean out the cellar at some point. I don’t want it to take all day.”

“Smells like shit,” Rinaldo muttered mutinously, but led the way and hung the lantern on a hook. “I  _suppose_  I should fetch the other ones, too?” 

“If you please,” Thomas sniped back primly. Rinaldo cursed him and tromped back up the stairs, turning briefly so Billie could toss him the packet of matches.

For the first time in weeks, they were alone. Thomas looked at her, unsteady and still guilty. Billie wanted very much to shake him and tell him to snap out of it. He wasn’t wrong, to accuse her. It had hurt; she had been angry at him. Daud, though, forgave her. Emily. 

He cleared his throat, heel scuffing against the bottom step and scraping off black grunge. “Billie?”

Great. As much as she wanted to believe that she could forgive him, she almost didn’t want that belief to be put to the test.

“Yes?” 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dredged up the past like that.” 

“You were right, though.” 

“I regret what I said. I hurt you, Billie.” 

She paused. The silence hung in the air the same way the acrid stench did; that is, unwelcome and sharp. She broke it with words that were more of the same. “You’ve hurt a lot of people, Thomas.”

He looked away. “But I didn’t want to hurt  _you._ ” 

Billie sighed and dragged a hand through her hair. “I forgive you, Thomas. Really.”

“Okay,” he said, and a tension drained from the room. 

Thomas looked down into the darkness. Billie’d seen the fire in his eyes, one of many. The fireplace a couple nights ago-- she’d caught him staring into it, body language tense. She pushed the thought aside and instead focused on the cellar. The pit they’d dragged the Overseer from still smelled absolutely terrible, and since the vineyard now belonged to them it was their responsibility to clean it up, and of course since Daud was conveniently absent it was her job to organize it, as she had—they’d listened with a minimum of fuss. She sighed and ran fingers through her hair again. It was a habit she picked up (again) almost as soon as she'd ditched the mask. “Go get Domenico from the garden and tell him to bring the mops and towels. You grab scouring cloths and water. I’ll get the cleaning salts.” Thomas nodded his understanding and walked up the stairs.

Billie passed Rinaldo on the way up, holding three lanterns to go on the corresponding hooks down in the cellar. “I’ll just take the broom and get everything into a corner for whoever has the common sense to bring a dustpan.” 

“Don’t miss the shit,” Billie said cheerfully, and Rinaldo swore. 

It took nearly an entire day to clean the filthy cellar, and by the time they finished and went up for dinner Domenico and Rinaldo fell asleep at the table. She didn’t have the heart to wake them up—especially seeing as Thomas was nodding off at his seat, too, despite all his better efforts. 

She woke up with her head pillowed in her arms, still at the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider leaving a kudos or a comment if you liked! Thank you to everyone who has commented so far, your response fuels me. Once again, thank you to everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcomed! Comments really wanted, actually. I need them to live.


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